Clocks.

Designed to be watched, we are faces on skin.
Our ticking spines are brittle and they slither along.
Loyally curled around another’s wrist
we toil, we sing.

Time handcuffs you and you do not complain
but drink subtle quartz and applaud its taste.
We spend the nights caught alone in our gaze

at your sleep-ridden hands clutching teddy bears close
whilst the hands over our faces swat the minutes away.